


Candy Store

by cjmarlowe



Category: Diving RPF
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Other, Voyeurism, kink bingo, london 2012, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surrounded by several of the best bodies in the world, Tom is only human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy Store

It's not that Tom doesn't take it all quite seriously. He hasn't worked this hard, for nearly his entire life, to blow it off now. But he's still only human, and eighteen, and no amount of focus on his upcoming dives is going to change the fact that he is currently surrounded by several of the best bodies in the world, mostly uncovered. Ordinarily it's fine, he's too familiar with the people he sees day in and day out to pay them the slightest bit of attention, but this is different. 

He can't be _blamed_ for reacting to it; it would have been superhuman not to have. Tom doesn't spend a lot of time wishing he was straight, he is what he is and he's happy with that, but it would be really _helpful_ right now not to be turned on everywhere he looks.

His swimsuit barely even covers what it's meant to, let alone anything extra, so really it's his _duty_ to take care of things before he has to go out in front of anyone. But he can't bring himself to _leave_ the change rooms entirely, even just far enough to be alone. As long as he's _embracing_ the problem, he might as well take advantage of what the universe and the Olympic qualifiers have seen fit to give him to enjoy.

There's a sort of a half wall, chest height and tiled and separating one bit of the room from another. Tom slips behind it like he's walking up towards the showers and then pauses. He's not really hidden. He can still see everything. That's what makes it so good. The fact that he can also _be_ seen, that his visible shoulder movement could be easily identifiable, is a chance he's willing to take.

The thing is, Tom just loves _bodies_. He likes touching his _own_ body, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his smooth skin, so the idea of feeling other people's bodies in the same way never fails to get him a little worked up, if he lets himself think about it. And right now it's not even about letting himself, it about the ridiculous amount of concentration it would take to _not_ think about it.

There's no substance to his attraction. There doesn't need to be, for a wank. This is all just...eye candy, a room full of eye candy. Right this moment he absolutely should go find himself a toilet somewhere but he doesn't, instead pushing his suit out of the way and wrapping a hand around his hard and very demanding dick. Because he just cannot tear his eyes away.

Really, it's not _his_ fault his body responds like this to half-naked men. It's just how he's made.

And try as he might to believe they're not being intentionally sexual, he just...okay, that one man has been adjusting himself for what has to be at least a minute now, and no diver bends the way that other man is bending unless he's _trying_ to show off his body. It serves no practical purpose. Tom would know.

So really, it's like they want him to do this. All of their posing would be _wasted_ if he doesn't. 

The faint, rhythmic sound of flesh on flesh he makes is too similar to the sounds of people preparing their bodies for the rigors of competition to be noteworthy. Slapping and grunting are tools of the trade. He tries to keep his breathing even and unobtrusive too, but there actually are limits to his ability to control his body and he has reached one of them. At least he manages to keep it quiet, and if it's clear what he's doing if anyone really stops and _looks_ at him and thinks about it—at first glance he could be drying himself off behind that wall, or massaging his thighs, which he's counting on—everyone's too focused on their own routine to bother.

He makes a point of not looking at anyone he really knows. Whatever or whomever he's looking at the moment he comes is going to stick in his mind, hard, and he's going to have to look a lot of these people in the eye again afterwards. Fantasies are one thing. Wanking to your best friend's actual arse is quite another. So he finds one near-anonymous competitor, tall and lean, back muscles to die for and an arse Tom just wants to grab hold of, and focusses on him. Instead of grabbing his arse, he grabs his own dick harder.

Tom is just about done, just about there, when the guy turns his head and meets his eyes and Tom's hand stills instantly. He's from...Brazil? Possibly? There are many divers here that Tom knows and competes with regularly, but there are entire regions of the world he competes with a lot more seldom and this is one of the men he just doesn't know on sight at all. He's been briefed on everyone, obviously, and knows their strengths and weaknesses and where he can beat them if he focuses on his own dives, but that's not the same as seeing them in the flesh.

The guy winks and looks away again, and Tom's hand moves furiously on his dick without him even consciously starting again, both because he is _so close_ and because the idea that he's been caught somehow makes him even hotter for it. He comes with a faint gasp that he's very lucky doesn't get him more attention. Or, if it does, nobody is admitting it.

It's not that he doesn't take his diving seriously. In fact, he takes it seriously enough to make sure he gives himself every edge he can. And if one of those edges is having a wank before the event, he's not going to be ashamed of that. 

He cleans himself up with a towel that he can drop and leave behind, definitely _not_ his shammy no matter how convenient it is, and pops the elastic of his suit right back where it belongs and heads on out, ready to compete.


End file.
